


Attendance

by Incapability



Series: Dropping plotlines like stitches from my knitting needles [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, holy run-on sentence, ras needs to deal with his toxic shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incapability/pseuds/Incapability
Summary: Wenn man den Teufel nennt, kommt er gerennt. – Call the devil by his name, and he comes running.„Will you attend me, Hilda? At least until the Dark Lord arrives, if he arrives?“The Dark Lord is not so easily dissuaded from his rights.





	Attendance

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in ages, and while I found part 2 to be fairly ok overall, that thing was dropping Zelda's storylines like I'm dropping bad comparisons. So sorry if stuff seems a little stiff. Concrit is always welcome!

The hem of Zelda’s flimsy robe catches on the hearth at every turn of her pacing. Her fingers clench around the empty air, hands wringing.  
„What time is it, Hilda?“, she asks again, and again doesn’t give Hilda time to answer.

  
„Surely the Dark Lord would’ve come by now if he were coming.“ She’s not sure whether she’s talking herself up or down, calming herself or preparing for disappointment. Either way, the outcome of this night seems too terrible to bear.  

  
„There is nothing to be scared about tonight.“ Damn Hilda’s ill-timed insights, but at least it snaps Zelda out of her own thoughts for a moment.  
„I’m not scared in the least!“ And she isn’t. She really, truly isn’t. Except that the Dark Lord might not come to her tonight. Except that he _might_.  

  
„I know!“ Hilda is quick to placate, but again, Zelda talks over her, because this last train of thought cannot, _may not_ last.

  
„It is the greatest honor to be visited by the Dark Lord. He only picks the most devout brides to … christen on their wedding eve.“ There, that will do. Cling to honor and devotion enough, and the … euphemism … almost fades into the background. It seems to be enough for Hilda, at least, who finally manages a small chuckle. Zelda is suddenly very grateful that she’s here with her.

  
„Then there‘s no more devout a witch than you, Zelda Spellman.“ Hilda looks up at her so trustingly, smiles so conspiratorially, that Zelda cannot stand to look at her any longer, and starts to pace again like a tiger in a cage.

  
Hilda can only stand it for a few more moments herself before she speaks up again.

  
„And He may not … visit. And that’s ok, too.“ Zelda halts, thinks, dares to entertain the idea that her devotion, her faith might not be enough to grant her this highest honor … and exhales.   

  
„Perhaps you’re right, Hilda. Perhaps the Dark Lord won’t come.“ It’s odd how light she feels once she’s given voice to this treachorous little thought, as though she could float away, and the edges of her mouth are the first to rise, but her smile has only half formed when the very earth trembles, the air itself rumbles  with His beastly, unholy presence.

 _Speak of the Devil_ …

  
All the weight that was lifted a second ago comes crushing back in the blink of an eye, heavy as a stone, and Zelda could swear she is petrifying herself, because her face can hardly move, her mouth can hardly move as she turns around to her sister, her dear Hilda who cannot help her now, who stands as stiffly as Lot’s wife, and Zelda almost chokes on her tongue as she whispers:„He hath come for me.“

  
Hilda is saying something before she leaves, Zelda can see her mouth moving, but she could not possibly hear her over the roaring in her ears. Is it her blood, pumped too fast by her frenzied heart, or is it the roar of His terrible, overwhelming presence?  
Either way, it’s enough to bring Zelda to her knees as heavy footsteps approach. Each step makes her breath hitch, her fingers grab into emptiness. When a heavy claw lands on her shoulder, Zelda loses the tenuous grip on herself, feels her expression slip. The talons dig into her skin sharply, expectantly, and now, finally, she regains her hearing beyond that terrible roar and her own racing heartbeat.

   
His breath is loud and heavy and hot on the back of her neck, and for just a second Zelda wishes that the ground might open up and pull her straight down into the Pit because even that might be better than  looking upon Him in his terrible, terrifying glory.    
But just as she steels herself with a fortifying breath, a scream cuts through the air, and then another, and when she turns around almost against her will, all that is left in the room is a gust of wind, an unnatural heat, and the smell of sulphur.

  
 When Hilda enters in a panic, Zelda finally relocates her backbone and gets up off the ground.

  
„Who’s that screaming to wake the dead?“    
 

  
*

  
   
When Zelda returns to her bedchamber at the Academy hours later, the innumerable candles have gone out, the embers in the hearth are dying, and the yellow petals strewn in a flight of fancy by Hilda hours before, a nod to her silly novels and an attempt to make light, are wilting.

  
It seems like a different place, a different night altogether. Unbelievable that earlier, she was here in the presence of the Dark Lord Himself, and now she has to share her wedding day with a funeral, ironically enough. With her officiant’s funeral, funnily enough. Who was apparently murdered by her wayward nephew, terribly enough.

The place is changed, but the heaviness remains.

  
Perhaps it’s because she is alone now. Hilda stayed behind with Sabrina to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble tonight.  
„After all“, she’d muttered, „He has already come and gone, and all that’s left to do is wait for the 'morrow.“

  
But she’s right, of course. Zelda pours herself a drink and sips it to distract herself from the odd mixture of relief and disappointment that lurks beneath the worry about her family. Disappointment, because it’s jarring to be left standing there after that dreadful buildup. Relief because, well, _obviously_.

  
Zelda finishes her drink and strips out of the sensible black dress she put on to go back to the mortuary. No sense in putting that silk and satin concoction back on. Maybe tomorrow, with Faustus … but for tonight, her slip will suffice. There is, thank the devil, no one here to see her

.  
With a sigh of relief, Zelda steps out of the dress and towards the bed, but the heavy frock has hardly hit the ground when the door opens, and quickly, too quickly, there is hot, heavy breath on her neck, and a claw on her shoulder, and a rumbling voice sounds over the sudden roaring in her ears.  
„We have unfinished business. And I always get my due.“

  
   
*

  
   
The next day, when Hilda dresses Zelda in her wedding gown, she notices that her sister’s face is stony and pale, and ascribes it to worry about Ambrose.

  
She notices that her body is almost too stiff to change dresses, and ascribes it to nerves before the ceremony.

  
She notices that Zelda flinches every time Hilda’s hands brush over her, and begins to worry.

  
Finally, she notices claw marks, red and inflamed,  running down her sister’s ribs and back. She sways briefly, whispers „ _Zelda_ “, and tries to take her sister’s hand.

  
Zelda pulls away, but at least now she looks at Hilda, still so cold and pale, and murmurs „Nothing but smiles today, sister. It is my wedding day.“ 


End file.
